You Can't Make Me Feel Better
by take.a.chance. just.say.yes
Summary: Massie and Josh are newly married after being together six years. Massie is depressed and Josh is doing everything he can to make things right. But how do you make someone feel better when they are the reason their best friend is dead?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: New story! It's kinda sad. Please R&R.**

**Disclaimer: I'm not Lisi Harrison but I do own the plot.**

New York City, NY

Friday, June 22, 2012

The Hotz Apartment

8:33 P.M.

He kissed me hard, running his hands up my sides, trying to slide off the paper thin navy cotton T-shirt I was wearing. He broke the kiss, pushing me back onto the bed, a wicked smile playing on his lips. His breathing was rough. I knew what he wanted and I wanted it, too. I looked up at him, staring into the dark brown eyes of the man I loved so much as he pulled his gray v-neck off, exposing the abs that usually made me melt. A glint of metal caught my eye and I smiled at the two week old ring he wore on the ring finger of his left hand.

And then _she _flashed into my mind and it was all over. I was done. He was trying to kiss me again but my eyes flooded with tears as I turned my head away from him.

In that instant, I could tell he knew. Knew I wasn't all there. Knew he wasn't getting anywhere.

His eyes flickered with anger, before quickly transcending into pain. He rolled off the bed, stomping out of the bedroom and down the hall towards the kitchen.

"Josh!" I called out into the apartment, tears slipping down my cheeks, mixing with the mascara I had so carefully applied that morning. "Josh, please!"

I heard the fridge slam shut, meaning Josh was resorting to Guinness he kept stocked. I heard footsteps coming back towards the bedroom and I got hopeful. He wanted to talk; he wanted to make things better. But the sounds passed the mahogany door of our room, going instead into the guest bedroom next door.

"Fuck you, Josh!" I yelled at the wall separating the two rooms. "Fuck you!" I slid off the queen bed, grabbing a tissue from the night stand before putting my T-shirt back on. I stepped into the bathroom, staring at my pathetic reflection in the mirror after turning on the sink. My hair was mussed up and not in a sexy bed head kind of way. It was more like a "I'm about to have a mental breakdown and I look like I am, too" way. My make up was a mess and staring into my dead amber-colored eyes just made more tears come. I wiped them away with tissue crumpled up in my hand before grabbing a make up removal cloth, running it under the faucet.

I quickly scrubbed my face, washed away the soap and pat my face dry with a fluffy blue towel. I brushed my long brown hair before tying it up in a pony tail. The bathroom door opened then. I looked into the mirror, not wanting to turn around and face whoever it was.

Surprisingly, it was Josh. He was still shirtless and carrying a beer bottle. He had on his "I may have been crying but there's no way in hell I'm going to tell you if I have" face. After being together six years I knew all of his faces.

And I knew he had been crying. Not big whiny baby crying, like me, but crying nonetheless. He was hurting and I was hurting.

"Massie?" He said softly, taking a few small steps towards me. "Baby, I'm so sorry." His tender voice brought up a whole new round of tears. I looked up at the ceiling, trying to avoid them from falling down my face, but it was a fruitless venture. They still dripped down slowly, falling off my chin. Josh came closer, grabbing my left hand, trying to turn me around. I let him, staring at him with what I am sure was a "I'm dying and I need help" kind of face. He pulled me close, wrapping his muscular arms around me and holding me tight. I pressed my cheek against his chest, sobs wracking my frame. Josh kissed the top of my head, saying nothing. There wasn't anything he could say, really, to make me feel better.

How could you make someone feel better when they were the reason their best friend was dead?

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**A/N: It's be an extremely long time since I've written for Fanfiction. I outgrew it and the Clique, but I couldn't get this out of my head. I'm making no promises on updating. I'm a senior this year and school is about to start, and I also play tennis, so I'll be busy. But please review and alert if you enjoyed it. Thanks! -M **


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks for the reviews. Here's the second chapter. (Let's go!) Btw, the beginning part is in a different tense to suggest that it is a flashback. Please let me know if I have any grammar wrong.

Disclaimer: I'm not Lisi Harrison but I do own the plot.

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New York City, NY

Saturday, June 23, 2012

The Hotz Apartment

2:55 A.M.

I'm driving my pearl white Lexus coupe, blasting Cobra Starship's "Hot Mess", weaving in and out of traffic. (And scaring the hell out of my passenger.)

"Massie! Oh my God, you almost hit that poor dog walker!" She yells, punching me in the arm as hard as she can. Considering the girl is a wimp, the hit doesn't register on my radar. I just giggle in return, sticking my tongue out at her in a childish fashion. It's a beautiful April morning, 9 A.M., and I'm driving us to one of my wedding dress fittings. The wedding is only six weeks away and I'm excited. Josh was convinced I was going to get cold feet in the weeks before the wedding, but the only thing I can look forward to is not being Massie Elizabeth Block anymore and becoming Massie Elizabeth Hotz.

"Girl, you need to hire a driver. Something tells me Josh will be crushed if you kill yourself in a car accident," She says to me, giving me a serious look. "New York City is practically un-drivable."

"C'mon, I'm not that bad of a driver!" I glare at her. "I'm better than you!"

She smirks. "I don't drive. Derrick drives me everywhere."

"Oh my gosh, I'm sorry that my fiance can't drop everything and drive me around like a chauffeur!" I sound exasperated, but I can't help but smile when I say 'fiance'. I look over at her intently.

"That's just too damn bad. I guess Derrick just loves me more," She replies in an obnoxious tone. My jaw drops. That bitch, I think jokingly.

"Oh my, you are such a bitch!" I stick my tongue out at her. Gosh, I turn into such a child whenever I spend time with her.

"Massie! Look out!" She screams, a look of terror crossing her pretty face. I whip my head to face the street. The only thing I can see is a speeding black Escalade coming the wrong way down an one way street. Right towards us.

I woke up then, tears wetting my face. I couldn't breathe. I was hyperventilating. I was terrified. My best friend is dead. My best friend is dead. My best friend is dead. I could have prevented it. I sat up in bed, pulling my knees up and wrapping my arms around them. I leaned against the headboard before rocking back and forth, sobbing, trying to be quiet.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered over and over, until I calmed down. I wiped the tears away, drying my hands on the black and white comforter that covered my side of the bed. Josh was wrapped up in the blue sheets. I leaned down and kissed his forehead, wishing more than ever that things were different. That she wasn't gone and that I could be a better wife to Josh. He didn't deserve this. He deserved a beautiful, put together, loving wife and there was no way I could be that person. I was too much of a mess.

A tear fell onto his forehead. I wiped it away, kissing him again before I climbed out of the bed. I hobbled to the bathroom, turning its light on and locking the door. I pulled the left leg of the baggy gray sweatpants (Josh's) that I wore up to my thigh, the sight of the scarred and scab pale flesh making me sadder than ever. I was stuck in a fucked up cycle.

I sat down on the vanity chair, opening one of the vanity's drawers and pulling out an Xacto knife. I bit down on my lip, debating whether or not I really wanted to do this.

I didn't. I did.

I pulled the fresh blade over the skin of my inner thigh multiple times, wincing. But this pain could never hold a candle to the raw pain I've felt ever since April 27th, the day Claire Stacey Lyons died while I was driving. The day that everything changed for everyone.

Someone, presumably Josh, tapped-tapped-tapped on the bathroom door. "Babe? Are you okay?" I looked down at the marred skin of my leg, my stomach falling to the ground. I'd done it again. I'd let him down.

"Um, yeah, I'm okay. Just washing my face."

I heard the door knob jiggle. "With the door locked?" He paused. "Mass, can you let me in?" A concerned tone flooded his voice.

The concern he felt for me threw me over the edge. He shouldn't be concerned about me.

"No," I replied, a fresh batch of tears making an unwanted appearance. "I can't. I can't."

But I unlocked the door anyways. (But not before pulling the sweatpants down and hiding the Xacto knife back in its place in the drawer.) It was easier than waiting for the inevitable: Josh craftily unlocking the door with a paper clip. He hugged me again before glancing down at the baggy sweatpants I wore. He knew.

Josh spoke softly. "Sweetie, did you do it again?"

I leaned my head against his shoulder before speaking. "No, babe. No. I just needed to be alone."

He hugged me tighter, nodding his head into my hair. "Okay. Let's get to bed; it's almost four." I untangled myself from his grasp, and intently looked up into his eyes. He cocked his head questioningly.

"I love you," I said simply, leftover tears snaking down my face. "I love you so much." He knew I was saying the unspoken 'But I don't deserve you. I don't deserve anything'.

A look of sadness graced his features. "Baby girl, I love you, too. I don't deserve you, but I love you. You make my world so much better; I just wish you could see that."

I shook my head, before leaning up to kiss him. He led me to bed, where I slid under the comforter and laid on my side. He snaked his hand over my side, around my stomach, pulling me closer. Josh kissed my neck softly, like he really did love me, but another tear just fell down my face anyways. I felt alone.

Another thing about April 27th?

It was the day I decided that I didn't really deserve to live.

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A/N: So this is going to get pretty angsty, but that's the kind of person I am. R&R? Thanks!

-M


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